Getting Home And Just Being There
by Notebooked
Summary: Carmen and Roger get home after being nearly shot by a loon, finding comfort in each other. I really don't know what this is. Then again, that goes for all of my fics, I guess. Enjoy. Rated T for some a-bit-too-graphic-for-me homosexual makeouting.


A/N: N/A. …Okay, I just wanted to make that joke, stupid as it might be. D: But anywhoo, yes. Have a little strange dribble about Carmen and Roger coming home from nearly being killed. And kindly ignore my ambiguous apostrophe applying at the aftermath, oh, Anna, what amazing alliteration, oh thank me darling. …I don't have anyone to do that for me, so I have to do it with myself. But anywhoo, kindly ignore everything which is horrible about this story, such as the horrible characterization and sudden mood shifts and tasteless ending. And if you find yourself unable to, please don't yell at me about it, because I'm fully aware of it all.

Enjoy. If you can.

Roger DeBris and Carmen Ghia were, at the moment, worried.

"Thank YOU!" The two had said, giving a quick wave to the officer, before rushing out with quick paces, out on the streets of their hometown. Many things changed if you had been nearly killed. For example, the darkness seemed darker. The lights seemed dimmer. And the mean streets seemed…meaner. They hooked arms with each other, pacing on as their eyes flew around, flickering about to see if anyone lurked in the shades. Not just to kill them, either…what sort of villainy lurked within these back alleys? What sort of evil hid in the shadows?

Roger thought of himself. A star, such a star…who wouldn't try to kidnap him, have him as their very own? No one! He took a deep, worried breath, his free hand grabbing onto Carmen's arm.

Carmen thought of his Italian chains. They were valuable, he knew. And definitely not just to him. They were priced, they were _sacred_! People could get…thoughts. Thoughts about stealing them. His free hand grabbed Roger's wrist, as they anxiously walked on.

Eventually, without much complication, they reached their Upper East house, fumbled with the door, and then got in. The lights weren't on, and Roger fumbled for the switch, despite knowing that the sudden light would likely wake up Brian, Kevin and the others (he had forgotten they were off at the opening night party. Well, he _had _justnearly been killed). Nevertheless, he felt like he desperately _needed _the light.

The lights went on, stinging their eyes for a moment. They looked at each other…and then came the we-just-got-almost-killed-high which had been postponed for a while. The two snickered, and then giggled, and then guffawed, and before long they were full-out laughing, slumping down onto the floor with their backs to each other.

"Ahah—ahaha—th-that crazy Kraut was—" Carmen said through laughter, brushing tears out of his eyes with one hand and tightly clutching Roger's hand with the other.

"Nearly got—hahah, haha, if—if I knew what a high that'd get—get us on, I'd get out in th'—the alleys every day cov'red in—in jewels!" Roger panted, and their laughter lowered into giggling, and their giggling gave way to heavy breathing and gigantic grins.

"…Roger?" Carmen said, turning his head toward his lover.

"Yes, darlin'?" Roger said, doing the same.

"Please don't."

"I won't, dear."

They smiled wordless smiles, Carmen panting a bit more heavily than his lover as the facts of everything caught up with him. Certainly, Roger had had a bit of a more exhausting day than him, but he always had a bit of a worse condition. "I think I need a lie-down, darling…" He mumbled, his eyelids flickering slightly as he slowly slid off his love's back down on the floor, feeling too tired to steady himself any longer.

"…Not right here, I hope. That just wouldn't do." Roger muttered, getting to his feet (which made Carmen's head bump to the floor, making a small wince come into existence) and getting down on one knee next to his sweetheart.

"…Roger, what're y—" Carmen yelped suddenly as Roger scooped him up into his arms. He laid his arms around Roger's neck, laughing. "Roger!" He grinned at his lover who simply grinned right back. Goodness, he felt like a bride…and there was absolutely nothing bad about _that, _no. In fact, he had dreamed about his wedding ever since he was a little boy. So far…it, well, it hadn't happened. But nevertheless.

Roger smiled at his dear, heading up the stairs, every step a thunder through the empty, silent house. Carmen, bless him for trying, just couldn't stop himself from giggling like a little schoolgirl as his arms grew tighter around Roger's neck (his grip _was _strong and reliable, yes, but he was still a bit afraid of falling).

Roger carefully (to not hit the door off its hinges) shoed (it wasn't really powerful enough to say 'booted', but not weak enough to say 'nudged') the door to their flower-adorned bedroom open, gently lowering the still-giggling Carmen down onto the pillow-riddled bed. He flopped down on the other side of the bed himself, sighing as he briefly wondered how a near-murder turned into such a happy occasion. Post-near-murder highness was an odd thing. (The two of them didn't seem to care they hadn't even changed out of their clothes before getting comfortable in their king-size bed, either. Then again, it's likely not something that comes to mind on a post-near-you-know-what high.)

His cuppycake finally breathed in (it seemed like he would never. It was worrying), fingering his Italian chains for a bit. "Anywhoo, we'd be best off quitting our yakking." Carmen sighed, turning on his side so he faced his darling with a bit of a smile. (Roger breathed as if to say that they hadn't exactly been _doing _any 'yakking', but then he stopped himself, feeling it was a moment too peaceful to be broken, and besides, his dear's big, dark brown eyes were just too distracting for him to speak.) "We'll be kept up all night." He found Roger's smooth hand gingerly stroking his left cheek, and spotted a sly grin on his lover's face.

"You say that," he said, softly; if words could grin, their faces would be bright as the "Springtime For Hitler" lightbulb sign on Broadway. "Like it's a _bad_ thing."

"…Why, _Roger._" Carmen said, a bit surprised, but then he found himself grinning as well; and then, before he even realized, his lips were pushed tightly against Rogers, and they tightly embraced each other while still locked in the kiss. Mumbles of "Oh, Roger," and "Oh, Carmen," as well as quiet murmurs of pleasure escaped them, and Roger rifled his fingers through Carmen's hair, as _his_ fingertips dug into his lover's back, trying to find comfort, to remain in this moment, to remain in his thoughts, to remain in his darling's arms and never, never let go.

And they were, indeed, kept up all night. The issue with their clothes had been resolved as well; because, come morning, they weren't _in_ their clothes anymore.

A/N: As a famous comedian once said, "If you know what I mean, and I think you do." *headshot'd*


End file.
